‘Does your father – your stepfather – live at Richmond?’ She tilted her head to look at him, and her hair rippled out over his hands. As his fingers fumbled with the comb, he rested then for a moment on the nape of her neck.

‘Will I...’ Gwenn went very still for the touch of Alan’s fingers disturbed her in a way that Ned’s had never done. She swallowed. ‘Will I meet him?’

‘Gwenn,’ Alan muttered, in a suffocated voice, and she half-turned towards him. Slowly, he lifted a heavy swathe of hair aside and pressed his lips to her neck. ‘Gwenn.’ He kissed her again, and when he realised that her breathing was as ragged as his, his hands were on her shoulders, impatiently turning her towards him. The comb fell into the grass. ‘Gwenn.’

And then they were kneeling breast to breast, while the stream chuckled over the stones. His arms went round her, and he was holding her as close as he could, and though he pressed his head into her neck and she pressed hers into his, it seemed they could not get close enough. He heard a groan, his own, and gave a shaky laugh. ‘I think that I had better finish your hair later, don’t you?’

She answered with a nod. He drew her to her feet and somehow they reached the tent and stumbled inside.

He released her hand while he wrenched off his belt and shrugged himself out of his tunic. Gwenn sat on her cloak, biting her lips. He dropped down beside her. ‘You’re not afraid, my Blanche?’ Forcing the wild passion inside him to subside, Alan cupped her face with his hands, and placed a brotherly kiss on her brow. She was wearing her green bliaud, the one with laces at the sides, and while he wanted to tear it from her and push her onto her mantle, he told himself to go gently. She would be used to gentleness having had Ned as her husband.

‘Afraid? Why should I be afraid? Are you so terrible a lover, Alan le Bret, that I should quake before you?’ She answered with bold words, but her eyes gave a different reply. She was afraid.

He smiled, attempting lightness. ‘Aye, you should tremble indeed. Look,’ he displayed his own shaking hands, ‘look what you do to me. Are you so terrible a lover, sweet Blanche?’

‘I...I do that to you?’ Her hands embraced his, holding them firmly between them so the trembling stopped. It was a tender, innocent gesture that managed to fuel the fire in his loins.

Her eyes were dark as sloes. They were inviting. He let her keep his hands, and cautiously dipped his head so his mouth found hers. It was the first time they had kissed as lovers, and it was very sweet. Her lips were warm. They trembled beneath his, and while she did not fling herself at him, she did not draw back either. Her eyes were huge, watching him, and something in them made his insides melt. And then because the sight of her was threatening to make him lose control, Alan shut his eyes, fought down the desire to snatch her into his arms, and made his mouth explore hers slowly.

Her fingers tightened on his. She leaned towards him.

Alan’s tongue traced the contours of her lips. She released his hands and he tensed, half expecting this to be the moment when she would pull away and announce that she had changed her mind. But her fingers slid up his face and into his hair, and her other arm curled round his waist.

He groaned, and opened his eyes. She lay relaxed against his chest, dark lashes fanned out across glowing cheeks. She gave an inarticulate murmur and pressed closer. She was kissing him, raining hot, blind kisses against his throat. His breathing was uneven. So was hers. She pulled at the opening of his chainse and pressed more wild kisses to his neck, which burned at the contact. Her dark head was moving feverishly across his chest. Alan rested his hand on her rosemary-scented hair. Astonishingly, his palm tingled. Everywhere her lips went, he tingled. When she kissed him through the stuff of his shirt, he tingled. Helpless, he marvelled at the depths of emotion she stirred in him.

This was not the seduction he had planned. He had thought to lead her gently. He should be in control, but he was beginning to realise that he was in her hands as much as she was in his, and he was not sure he liked it. He wanted to be able to crush her to him, he wanted to stay in command of his senses, he wanted...

Gwenn’s lips found his, and clung.

I must remain detached, Alan told himself, I must... But she opened her mouth to give entry to his tongue, and then he was drowning in need. Her hands were lifting the hem of his shirt, sliding up his chest, disturbing his pulses. Clumsy with lust, he tried to caress her breasts, but her bliaud was between them.

‘Oh, the devil with this gown,’ he gasped, tearing his mouth from hers. He was scarcely able to draw breath. ‘Gwenn?’ He pushed her onto her back.

‘Mmm?’

Her sloe-dark eyes looked drugged. Her hair was spread over their cloaks like a fan of black silk. She was adorable, she twisted his heart. He kissed her freckled nose, and tugged at the complicated lacings. ‘This has to come off.’ He kissed her shoulder. ‘Gwenn, help me. Show me how this blasted ribbon unfastens.’ He was not so far gone that he did not notice that his request seemed to have startled her, for her eyes opened wide, and the wanton woman that a moment ago had heated his blood seemed suddenly to have reverted into an innocent, blushing child.

‘You...you want my dress off?’

‘Damn right I do.’

She looked away, cheekbones bright with colour, but she gave a curt little nod, and Alan decided that he must have been mistaken about her confusion, for her fingers went to the bows, and she unfastened her bliaud. She sat up and pulled it over her head, leaving her clad in a light undergown. Alan stripped off his shirt. She averted her eyes from his naked chest. He frowned. ‘Gwenn?’

She swallowed, and forced her eyes to meet his. Half naked, Alan looked frighteningly...male. She was no virgin, but Ned had never lain naked with her, and the thought that Alan might want her naked had only just occurred to her. She found it disturbing. A covert glance informed her that a light sprinkling of dark hair covered his chest, and arrowed into his breeches. Her mouth was dry, and suddenly fearful of what she might have unleashed in her companion, she tried not to moisten her lips, sensing he would take it as an invitation.

‘Don’t look at me as though you fear I’ll eat you.’ Alan’s sinful mouth curved.

‘W...won’t you?’

‘Not unless you want me to.’ His hand reached across to feel the texture of a long tress. ‘Black silk,’ he murmured.

Gwenn’s scalp warmed. Alan’s thumb found an earlobe. He caressed it. That warmed too. She leaned towards him, wanting him to hold her tightly, but too shy too look at him, too shy to tell him with words. Her hand crept to his chest and ran over the dark hairs. She reached for his neck and pulled his head towards her.

‘Do you insist in keeping this on?’ he muttered, plucking the neck of her undergown.

She managed to look at him. ‘N...not if you don’t you want me to.’

Alan smiled with his eyes and cleared his throat to make his voice soft. ‘No, I don’t. But never mind.’ He brought his lips closer. ‘Come here, my Blanche.’

She wound slight arms round his rib-cage. Their lips joined, and their tongues tangled. He heard her moan of pleasure, and slid a hand over the thin linen of her undergown to capture one of her breasts. Her body’s instant response fired his senses, and sliding his hand to her other breast, he repeated the movement. The response was equally delightful, and he heard her catch her breath. Feeling as though his loins were on fire, he shifted his hand from one breast to the other, and buried his head in her neck. The scent of rosemary enveloped him. His mouth searched for the small patch of skin he could reach through the neck of her shift. She groaned, and shifted against him.